


This Day Deserves a Truly Sordid End

by waltzmatildah



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/pseuds/waltzmatildah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Addison, falling into something familiar...</p>
<p>(Set some time between season seven and, well, whenever...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Day Deserves a Truly Sordid End

Stumbling round. Falling down.

She giggles and bucks her head as he clamps an unsteady palm over her parted lips. Shoves her tongue between his fingers, tastes the heady tang of sex and sweat that clings there.

She's lost a Christian Louboutin somewhere between the cab and wherever the hell it is she's now standing and the lack of balance is just enough to distract her from the inevitable devastation that news will bring in the sobering light of a few hours time.

Her fingers snag in the belt loops of his dress pants and the inexpensive polyester reminds her she'll be slumming it tonight.

Relishes the idea with a fervor she's not felt for decades.

 

 

 

The occasion had started with some degree of pained innocence. A gilded wedding invitation in the mail and the ghosted assumption that she'd politely decline.

But if life has taught her anything, it's that in the unexpected, opportunities lie.

And so she accepts. With pleasure even.

Packs an inappropriate dress alongside even more deliciously inappropriate shoes, wings her way back to the ever present Seattle drizzle. And touching down feels a lot less like coming home than it used to.

Progress of sorts, she grins. Shrugs.

 

 

 

He slides in next to her at the church. The back row. A dumping ground for outcasts. And they've done this before but there'll be no encouraging him off and away this time.

She bumps her knee against his, a deliberate _hi there_ that fools neither of them as he returns the movement in lieu of words she knows he'd only stumble over anyhow.

Wonders briefly if this is his first time back in a church after his own failed happily ever after. Figures, though, that a string of funerals probably broke that connection any number of months and years ago...

Blinks back inexplicable tears as a slash of silk and bright white lace passes to her left.

 

 

 

He slides a glass of champagne between her curled fingertips. Tilts his own shallow tumbler into its rim in a mock salute and downs the lot in one go.

Makes his intentions more than clear.

Each and every sordid one of them.

 

 

 

The race to oblivion starts at around the same time the speeches do. And she loses track of who gets there first.

There's a courtyard, leafy and damp, and he pulls her back into the trellis, parts willing lips with his scotch soaked tongue, drives a knee up between her thighs.

Stops short but only just.

And the memory of him, distant as it may be, fills her with a degree of _anticipation_ that she thinks might just be her complete un-doing...

 

 

 

They're a dichotomy of sorts when they're drunk. But at least she's sober enough to see it. He's silent and staring. An absurd degree of focused intensity that only fuels the hysteria that builds within her.

Bubbles and bubbles 'til it's leaking, un-checked.

She works her blood red nails into the knot of his tie, slides it to loose without needing to look. Head tilted back into his fists and left leg up over one hip.

Notes with a degree of self-satisfaction that the cab driver changes up through the gears with a little more ferocity than is entirely necessary.

Grinds them to a halt against the curb that almost send her teeth through his lower lip.

Only serves to take her further from control.

 

 

 

His apartment is empty. Quite literally empty.

A squat television teeters precariously atop a plastic packing container. Aerial rabbit-eared beside it and held in place with a series of stacked medical journals.

He wrests her attention back with his hands. Cups her backside, presses her up against plasterboard that creaks and groans under the pressure.

She's almost waiting for it to splinter, send them both sprawling into the abandoned garden space on the other side.

Loses it completely then. With one shoe on and one shoe lost and the buttons of his white dress shirt scattered like marbles at their feet.

 

 

 

It's how they're caught.

Half naked and hysterical when the lights switch to _shocking_ and people that are vaguely familiar to her loom, tableaued silhouettes, in her peripheral vision.

She brings her fingers to her face. Burrows her head in the curve of his collar bone and chalks one up to drunken debauchery.

 

 

 

She thanks him for a lovely evening. Chokes around the words with a glint in her eye as he ducks his head and apologises once again.

_Completely unnecessary_ , she assures him. _But apology accepted_.

Harper Avery's grandson had dropped her missing shoe on the kitchen table. The sight of it perched there, red leather sole against the worn bench top, is almost too much and so she snatches it back.

Curls her fingers through his and drags him resolutely outside. A different cab driver and a different result as they sit at opposite ends of the rear bench seat.

Wait out the trip to The Archfield with barely their fingertips entwined.

 

 

 

The numbers tick off slowly, one by one by one, as the elevator makes its steady ascent. Spits them out into a softly lit hallway with carpet that muffles their steady path.

She closes the door behind them, waits for the heavy wood to fall into place before cupping his face in her hands. Runs fingers over the arch of his eyebrow and the pretense and bravado he'd hidden behind all night shifts floor-ward.

Leaves him exposed. Confused.

Maybe.

With the lights off she sheds clothing in layers as they make their way towards the bed. Stops just short of naked and slides between the silk sheets, wraps her buzzing limbs around his as fingers work through the hair at the nape of her neck.

Gentle and quiet in the shadows that fall though heavy drapes still pulled askew.

_Good night_ , as a sigh.

_See you in the morning_ , as a whispered promise.


End file.
